I picture boredom as a three-fingered, red-eyed, furry son of a bitch.
He's not evil, though he certainly looks it. He just sits there, hiding behind your cubicle wall, or your bedroom door, ready to look you in the eye and say hi. Sometimes, he doesn't even do that. He just stares.
Haven't you ever been nearing the end of your shower, turning off the water and pulling back the curtain, when you suddenly just pause, notice the boredom, and say, "Fuck"?
Right then, even though you've got the rest of the day at your fingertips, you know you're not going to do a damn thing.
It's all his fault.
Sometimes, he doesn't even say hi. He just looks you in the eye, and fucks you right over.
